A/N: I don't have internet and I'd rather not do any work right now, so I decided to write this. Oneshot.

A dull, throbbing pain in John's temple slowly dragged him back into consciousness, followed by a sharper pain in his wrists. His arms were secured behind his back with both handcuffs and rope, and his ankles tied to the legs of the chair he was in, effectively securing him. A groan escaped John's throat as he tested the strength of his bonds, which were tied tightly and with precision. He tried to open his eyes and get a better look at his surroundings, but was immediately blinded by an intense light shining directly into his face. Near the source of the throbbing John could feel a large amount of blood dried on his skin from when he was initially knocked out.

As the light shining on him was turned off, John prayed that Sherlock would find him soon.

…

Sherlock had just solved a particularly brutal string of murders that culminated in a chase through the dark alleyways of London. John was standing off to the side, still catching his breath after the wild chase while watching Sherlock, who had actually been the one to catch the fleeing murderer, explain to Lestrade the man's motives. After a few more deep breaths, John rejoined Sherlock and Lestrade, only catching the last bit of conversation.

" wanting revenge for what he thought was the kidnapping of his lover, when in reality he had moved out of town and hoped to start a new life somewhere else." Sherlock rambled on, obviously annoyed at the DI's inability to pick up on small but vital clues. Once he had finished explaining, John muttered a quiet "Brilliant", causing the blush on Sherlock's cheeks caused by all of the running to darken. After saying goodbye to Lestrade and ignoring some poorly veiled insults from Donovan and Anderson, John and Sherlock left the scene.

"Hungry?" Sherlock asked as they walked back towards the main street to catch a cab.

"Starved," John replied. Since getting the case three days ago, John hadn't had the chance to eat much other than the occasional snack here or there, always doing something to help with the case. And, as with most cases, Sherlock hadn't eaten anything at all.

"Angelo's alright?"

"Of course."

Once on the main road, the pair had little trouble hailing a cab and, after giving the cabbie the address, relaxed for the first time in days. John watched Sherlock as he settled back into the worn seat, watching London pass by out the window. Not long after moving in with Sherlock, John started to notice small things, like his gaze lingering on the detective's body a moment too long, or how his heart seemed to race at even the slightest of touches. It was only after the incident at the pool that he realised how much Sherlock actually meant to him, and came to a startling conclusion.

He was in love with Sherlock Holmes.

From then on, John worked hard to try and hide his feelings, having been informed early on that Sherlock was "married to his work". And while he did often wish that their friendship could have been something more, John figured that he would rather continue being just friends with Sherlock than confessing and ruining their relationship.

John was pulled from his thoughts as the cab slowed to a stop outside of the restaurant. Sherlock climbed out quickly, leaving him to pay the cabbie before getting out behind him. They were greeted warmly by Angelo himself and were ushered to the table by the window, on which already sat a candle. For a while, the pair talked about everything from the case (earning concerned looks from several other restaurant-goers) to the weather to Sherlock's experiments, the most recent involving a human foot which John had the pleasure of discovering the previous day. When the food arrived, the conversation died as even Sherlock, famished after so many days without food, quickly ate. Plates now empty and stomachs full, John was now so close to Sherlock that their legs were brushing against each other's. He leaned forward to listen, grinning as Sherlock listed his deductions about other people in the restaurant.

"The woman over there," Sherlock said quietly, pointing at a well-dressed older woman sitting alone at a table near the back, "Was waiting for her husband to meet her here for their anniversary dinner. He obviously forgot, but she is still holding onto the hope that he will show up."

"And what about him?" John asked, nodding towards a young man standing near the entrance.

"Waiting for the waitress' shift to end. Based on the way he keeps fumbling with something in his pocket, he's probably going to propose to her," Sherlock explained.

"Amazing," John said, smiling as he watched a waitress walk over to the man near the entrance and pull him into a tight embrace before leaving the restaurant hand-in-hand.

This continued on for a while, until Angelo had to kick John and Sherlock out of the restaurant after John gave a ridiculous deduction of two people seated several tables away.

"I hate to end your date early, but you're scaring the others away," Angelo said as the pair dissolved into laughter.

For once, John didn't deny that they were on a date.

At some point during the walk back to their flat, John's hand had ended up in Sherlock's, not that he minded at all. He just glanced at Sherlock and smiled, feeling a blush creeping across his face as soon as he had noticed.

That night, there were no experiments done, no violin playing, no consulting detectives awake at ungodly morning hours, and no nightmares. Exhausted, John opted to go to bed as soon as they got back to the flat, and managed to convince Sherlock to do the same without much effort. Not even bothering to shower, John changed into clothes better suited for sleeping and climbed into bed, happier than he had been in a while and quickly fell asleep.

…

The next day, John awoke to the sunlight streaming in through the window. He glanced at the clock, which read a little after seven in the morning, and slowly climbed out of bed. He went downstairs to the kitchen, finding that it and the adjacent sitting room showed no signs of the consulting detective. John would have been worried that Sherlock had taken off for one reason or another, but the sound of Sherlock's bed shifting as its inhabitant changed positions confirmed that Sherlock had actually gone to bed in his own room for once. As the kettle was heated, John took a quick shower to wash off the grime from the day before, then changed into his usual attire, having nothing other than a few errands to get done before the day ended.

Now clean and dressed, John made his way back down to the kitchen, trying to make as little noise as possible. He discovered soon after moving in with Sherlock that the detective was a deep sleeper for the most part, and could sleep for hours on end if not prompted to wake up; a trait that John attributed to his ability to stay awake for days without showing signs of being tired.

As soon as he had had his morning tea, the rest of the day passed by uneventfully. John read the paper, went on a walk then grabbed a quick bite to eat, returning to the flat to find Sherlock awake and working on the experiment he had described to John earlier. Neither man mentioned what had happened the night before, each knowing that something had changed between them, but unsure of how to approach the topic.

"John," Sherlock called from the kitchen table where he was doing an experiment involving a human foot.

"What is it?" John glanced up from his laptop, where he was working on typing up their most recent case to put on his blog.

"I need you get me several things from the store," the detective replied, mixing together a clear liquid and a slightly blue one. Before John had the chance to protest, Sherlock continued. "We are out of milk again, and I need vinegar, baking soda, and several other things from the butcher a block away. There, all you have to do is say my name and someone should bring you what I asked for."

Knowing there was no way that Sherlock was going to go out and get these things himself, John sighed in defeat and shut his laptop, grabbing his jacket as he headed for the door.

"I would offer to go myself, but the next hour of this experiment is crucial in terms of observations," Sherlock added, looking up at John for the first time. "Do be quick, I will be needing those things soon."

John rolled his eyes and quickly exited the flat, zipping up his jacket to protect himself from the cool London air and decided to stop at the butcher's first.

That, John realised much later on, is where he made the mistake that got him into this entire mess.

He should have known that it wasn't the right place based on the mix of confused and taken-aback looks he got by mentioning Sherlock's name. But instead of leaving, John asked again if they had any orders for a Sherlock Holmes, only to be told that no one by that name had ever placed an order. But from the back, a figure that looked like he worked in the shop emerged.

"Sherlock Holmes, you said?" The man asked, his voice rough and low.

Everything about the situation was wrong and his instincts were shouting for him to run, but John still walked over the tall and imposing man, wanting to get back to the flat quickly. "That's right. Have you got his order?"

A smirk flashed across the man's features before hardening back into a neutral expression. "Of course, It's just back here. If you could just give me a hand in bagging it, then you'll be all set."

"I'll just come by to pick it up later, if it's not ready " John started, the extremely unusual request finally pushing him over the edge. But the man had grabbed his arm and was pulling him through the side door of the butcher shop before John had fully realised what was happening.

The next thing he knew, something hard hit him in the side of the head, and everything went black.

…

"I take it that you've been in situations similar to this since becoming acquainted with Sherlock Holmes?" A man standing in front of John asked as his eyes adjusted to the lower level of light. He was dressed casually, wearing faded jeans with holes at the knees and a loose-fitting black shirt with running shoes. Blonde hair stood up at odd angles, making it seem as though the man had just rolled out of bed. Certainly not the outfit that first came to mind when John thought "kidnapper" or "potential murderer".

"Several times," John replied, looking around the room and studying his surroundings. He appeared to be in the room of an abandoned flat, no furniture, other than the chair John was tied and a slim knife to his left, anywhere to be seen. The floral wallpaper was peeling off of the walls and several stains formed a questionable mosaic on the floor. Where there may have once been a window was now filled in with bricks, covered by tattered drapes. The only sources of light were a lamp in the hallway outside the door and the light hanging above his head. Grimacing, John closed his eyes; the dull throbbing at his temple wasn't going away, if anything, it was intensifying.

The man smirked, something dangerous flashing in his eyes for a moment. "In that case, I'll be sure to make this kidnapping experience unique and unlike any other. I'm sure you know the whole drill by now," He explain as he slowly approached the chair John was tied to. "We've kidnapped you, and will continually beat you until we get what we want, and won't hesitate to kill you if we don't."

John made another futile attempt to get out of his bonds only to have his chin grabbed violently and tilted upwards by the man, forcing John to make eye contact with him.

"I wouldn't struggle any more than you have to, because I won't hesitate to put you through the most excruciating torture imaginable," He threatened, dropping his hand and taking several steps back.

Keeping his expression hardened to hide how shaken he actually was, John carefully watched his captor. "Who are you and what do you want?" He asked, trying to get information and also to keep the blonde distracted.

"I'm no one important," He spat, gaze drifting to the knife then back to John. "Just another ordinary person who had their boyfriend arrested thanks to the work of your brilliant friend Sherlock Holmes."

At that moment, everything clicked.

"So, the person who we caught yesterday "

"Wasn't the person who you were looking for, not exactly. The first murder? That was entirely him, killing the woman who helped me to get away. But after she was killed, I returned and kept hidden, copying his style, even going after people who had helped me just to make it seem like he was the one doing it!" He explained, his voice gradually growing louder and louder to the point where he was practically shouting. As he spoke, he walked back over to John and drew his arm back, landing a solid punch on John's jaw. Before John had a chance to recover, the man landed another punch on his stomach, knocking the wind out of him.

"Now, stay here and behave. I have a few things to take care of." With that, the man left the room and the blinding light from earlier was turned back on, and John lapsed back into unconsciousness.

...

"And you're sure that this is where he's being held?" He asked, fighting to keep his voice steady as he looked at the abandoned building from the car window.

The other man nodded. "Positive. We've traced the location of the feed back to this building," he explained as the pair glanced back at the computer screen, which displayed a live video feed of an unconscious John doubled over, his jumper bloody and torn. "Do be careful, brother, you don't know what his captor will do."

Clenching his jaw, the first man leapt out of the car and sprinted towards the building, followed close behind by a group of ten fully armed men.

As Sherlock entered the desolate building, he prayed that John was alright.

...

In his semi-unconscious state, John could hear the door flying open and many footsteps, followed by shouts and more movement. He began to slowly regain consciousness as he felt someone delicately cupping his chin, as though trying not to hurt him any more than he already was. Opening his eyes, John was greeted by the sight of Sherlock, whose open expression shifted from one of worry to surprise to relief in a matter of seconds.

"John," He breathed, a faint smile appearing on his face.

Several people entered the room after that and Sherlock's expression hardened again as they began to undo John's restraints, first freeing his arms then freeing his legs. Now fully awake, John stretched his arms and legs before trying to stand up. As soon as all of his weight was supported on his legs, he practically collapsed, only to find Sherlock's arm wrapped tightly around his torso.

"Are you sure you can walk?" He asked, making a weak attempt to hide the worry in his voice.

"Yeah," John replied, "But not on my own."

With that, the pair headed outside and over to the ambulance, Sherlock's arm wrapped around John and John's arm draped over Sherlock's shoulders. The paramedics insisted that John should be taken to a hospital, and despite John's vehement rejection of the idea, eventually he lost the argument and was taken to the hospital, Sherlock never saying anything but always holding John's hand.

The doctors and nurses cleaned up the wound on John's head as well as many small, previously unnoticed cuts that littered John's upper body, announcing that while he didn't have a concussion, he would have to take it easy for a few days just to be safe. After much insistence on both Sherlock's and John's part, the hospital finally agreed to release John, and by the time the pair had started to head back home, it was dark out.

The cab ride back passed by quickly and in complete silence, both men looking out of the window, wanting to say something to break the silence but unsure of what exactly to say and how to say it. The cab pulled over and Sherlock, for once, paid the cabbie before getting out, John following close behind as he opened the door to their flat. As soon as he had closed the door behind him, John found himself face-to-face with Sherlock. The next thing he knew, Sherlock's lips were pressed against his, held in place by hands on either arm. Caught off-guard, John initially froze, but quickly relaxed and began to return the kiss, his hands moving to Sherlock's waist. He wished they could have continued for an eternity, Sherlock's surprisingly soft lips on his own, knowing the other was safe, but eventually Sherlock pulled back. For a while, the pair just stood there, Sherlock's hands still on John's arms and John's hands on Sherlock's waist, neither saying anything. Oddly enough, Sherlock was the one to break the silence.

"John, back there, I " He began, voice shaking slightly. Taking a deep breath to collect his thoughts, Sherlock tried again. "There was a live video feed sent to Mycroft and I of a pitch black room, but then a light came on and you were there, in the centre of the room, restrained and unconscious."

John nodded, urging Sherlock to continue on, his thumbs tracing rubbing small circles on the skin beneath them.

"You were just so pale and there was so much blood, I thought you had maybe... It took a while, but Mycroft was able to track the source of the feed to your exact location, and upon his insistence, I ran inside followed by his team. They took out your kidnappers, and that was when I found you."

There was another drawn out pause, during which John managed to make eye contact with Sherlock for a moment before the consulting detective closed his eyes and leaned forward, his forehead resting against John's. His expression changed into one of concentration, appearing to be having a hard time matching words to his thoughts.

"Out with it," John urged, "Just say whatever it is that you're thinking or feeling."

"Don't you see? That's just it!" Sherlock said, obviously exasperated. "These emotions, they're unfamiliar and confusing and complicated and completely preventing me from being able to think logically."

Sighing, John brought his hand up so it was cupping the back of Sherlock's neck. "You're over-thinking this, Sherlock. Just try "

"John, I "

"No, listen to me for a moment. I'm not asking you to stop thinking, I'm just asking you to let your feelings speak instead of your mind, even if they are unfamiliar."

Another pause.

"After the time we spent together last night, I realised that my feelings for you may be more than platonic," Sherlock murmured, opening his eyes to look at John. "I think I love you."

John could have sworn that his heart skipped several beats as he heard Sherlock's confession. There was a beat as John just looked up at the dark haired detective, unable to see how such an extraordinary man could ever fall in love with an ordinary person like him, but grinning then pulling him into a slow and passionate kiss nonetheless.

"God, Sherlock, I love you, too," He murmured, lips only barely brushing against the other man's, arms still wrapped around each other.